Dean, covered in blots of blood that looked like blooming peonies on his flannel smashed open the doors to the Emergency Room of the Richard T. Benedict Memorial Hospital. It was 4:00 a.m. So the small town ER had two drunks-one with a fork through his hand- and Sam in its waiting room. A nurse bustled past them and threw a zip up with the hospital's logo on it, to Sam who caught it numbly. He stood up, to put it on and then he noticed Dean.
His eyes filled with dread of his older brother's wrath and Sam straightened up to his full height before starting to say, "Dean." He held out his hand acting as counsel to his brother who began pounding forebodingly towards him.
Dean stopped for a split second and saw why the nurse had given Sam a change of clothes. His shirt was drench in sticky, congealing blood. It was so wet and fresh that it looked black against the gray shirt. The sight made Dean nauseous and the only way he could process his repulsion in that moment was to land a hard punch directly to Sam's jaw.
The two drunk men jumped and watched as intently as their alcohol-addled brains would allow.
Nurses rushed over to stand between Dean and Sam. The latter had not retaliated, feeling too much guilt that he had almost welcomed the attack. Dean tried to get at Sam once more, by side-stepping the tiny nurse but when he saw the broken defeated look in his little brother's eyes, he couldn't find the strength.
"It's okay, it's okay," Sam placated as Dean's posture fell, "This is my brother, he's Katherine's—" Sam stopped speaking, at a loss of what to label Dean and Kat because their reconciliation was on the mend, and may have just been ended.
"Husband," Dean finished, without a second thought, "Kat, she's… she's my wife."
"Ok well, then sir. We have your brother's statement; we're going to need to take one from you and—"
"I don't have time for a statement, I have to see her—"
"You don't need to do anything of the sort! She has been in surgery for an hour already and will be, for God knows how long. When we know something, you will know something. Until that time, you will stay put and give us your statement." The nurse shuffled away for the paperwork and Dean did not push further because he knew he'd need her for information later.
He rounded on Sam. "What the hell happened?!"
"Crowley happened, Dean. The whole thing was a trick. He used the guy because he owns his soul. He wasn't anything supernatural, just some guy who desperate to break his crossroads deal. You should've seen his face when he did it, it was like it was happening to him too," Sam rambled.
"What. Did Crowley. Do?" Dean questioned through gritted teeth.
Sam's eyes filled with regret and sorrow. "He offered the guy his soul free from Hell...if he killed her. So he stabbed her, in the back. It went in really deep man, there was a lot of blood. I got there as quick as I could, and it definitely threw his aim off but…" Sam's voice cracked from the strain of the emotion weighing down on him.
Dean was feeling the same weight. It was localized on his shoulders like a rod with bundles at each end, cutting into him with pain that transformed into regret. He slunk down into the hard, waiting room chair, placed his elbow on his knee. His hand was like a catcher's glove for the overflow of emotions from his head. Rage, joy, despair, remorse, shame, pride, love. All of these things swelled up inside Dean. He refused to let grief take hold; grief was something for the dead, and Kat was not that yet.
"Where's Cas?" Sam asked, just noticing the angel's absence.
"Gone. Rowena zapped him with some spell or something, I don't know." Dean stared at the door that said
"Well, we've gotta find him. He can make this right."
"Get changed, I can't look at her blood anymore. Then we can talk," Dean said dismissively.
It took Sam less than two minutes to remove the soggy shirt and report back to Dean whose position hadn't changed.
Dean sensed his approach and started speaking. "I last saw Cas when we rendezvoused with Rowena at a closed-up diner down the highway. It looked like she sent him back upstairs, so I'd start with a summoning spell," Dean said, his voice augmented with thankfulness that the smell of the iron in Kat's blood was no longer lingering.
"Ok. And you'll wait here? Call me with any updates," Sam said by way of goodbye, thankful for a purposeful mission.
Three hours went by as the nurses heartlessly ignored Dean's stare. The drunk men were gone and Sam had only just gotten all the ingredients needed for the summoning spell. With each passing moment, Dean felt farther and farther from Kat. It was like her essence was slipping away on a cloud of distance that was fueled by negligence.
As if whoever was on high heard Dean's dazed musings, a woman in lavender scrubs, a lab coat, and a matching scrub cap entered the waiting room, holding a clipboard. She looked around like there was a sea of people waiting for news of loved ones but then her sight fell only on Dean. The room's lone occupant, surrounded by quiet desperation as company.
The doctor had seen that look a hundred times; she hoped it didn't work out the way cases like this usually did.
She walked towards him and prepared to lead with the good news because in experience it softened the blow of the bad.
"I assume you don't know much about what happened to your wife?" She had intended to tell this man his news and attend to other patients, but as she got closer she saw his eyes glowing green, and lost. He probably hadn't even seen the girl named Katherine Taveras since even before the mugging—which is what Sam had told them happened—and she couldn't help but feel pity for this man's lack of quarter.
Dean opened his mouth to answer but stopped, unsure of what to say. The unspoken words stood for those that he would've said and the doctor continued, "Well she was stabbed in her lower back. There is a bad and a good side to that—"
"Glass half full, huh?" grumbled Dean, regaining some of himself.
"There has to be." She smiled. "Now the good side is that the blade, though deep, did not pierce the uterus as much as it could have, it was just as a precaution that we delivered your son," she looked at her watch, "at 6:52 this morning. Now he is a few weeks early, so we're keeping him under observation to monitor his lung function. But other than that he is healthy…"
Dean was only half listening to her continued explanation of his condition. All he'd heard was; son, and healthy. "A son." Dean said in disbelief.
The doctor smiled kindly, "A son." Dean exhaled loudly and full of relief. "Now, for the more complicated patient," she started guiltily, "Your son was not injured in the attack because Katherine's liver blocked the blade. Now the liver regenerates on its own so it's not that we're worried about it healing, it's how much fluid leaks out as it does. We have it draining, and she's stable. But we're monitoring for hemorrhage and a number of other complications that could present themselves." She finished.
"Can I see her?" Dean asked roughly, building up the dam the prevented weakness from flowing.
"Absolutely," said the doctor standing and gesturing to a nurse, "Sharon will take you to her room, Mr…" she searched.
"Oh, Jim. Jim Morrison," Dean lied smoothly.
She chuckled ironically, "It makes sense now."
"What does?" Dean asked as they walked at an even pace to the nurse's station.
"Katherine was conscious for a few minutes after your son was born. Well, long enough to say 'James' which we assumed was to be his name; and your name is James, that's why she did it. Jim, short for James, right?" she explained.
"Oh, uh, yes, that would be it," Dean agreed. In truth, he had no idea why Kat had said that name but in this moment it was the least of his worries.
It was like being underwater for an extended period of time, begging desperately to take in air, and finally, the release comes, and all of the senses that were missing bombard you again.
Dean stood in the doorway of the room. Kat lay there flat, abdomen depressed and tubes protruding from under the blankets and an unknown origin. The machines provided a constant dependable sound. Dean swallowed hard and tasted the copper of his own blood; the remnants of his fight with Rowena.
The nurse Sharon graciously held the door to enter but he didn't need it. It would have burst through a brick wall, had it been there.
He hurried to the side of Kat's bed and said, "Come on Captain Badass. Get up. You're better than this."
Dean moved swiftly closer and grabbed her inanimate hand and clutched it, trying not to let the image get the best of him. Her face was pale, like someone had boiled hot water and didn't leave the tea bag in long enough; then poured a healthy helping of milk into the mug. There was slight bruising under her eyes from blood loss. Her comatose state did not seem peaceful. Dean would've given anything to kiss away the crease that had made its home on her forehead.
He sat there for another hour. Nurses had come in from time to time, assuring him that she would wake, and to give her time. Dean still had his hand lain across hers. He counted the beats of her heart and watched her breathing regain a proper rhythm.
Her eyes didn't open. But a hoarse, low, rumble came from her throat.
"Sam. Is he ok?" Kat croaked. It was the most beautiful, and unattractive sound he'd ever heard her make.
He sprung up to his feet and leaned over her bed. "He's fine, he's fine," he said through a huge smile. He placed the kiss on her forehead then, and immediately the cavernous crease vanished.
Her eyelids fluttered only making it open about a centimeter before shutting and trying again.
"Have you seen him?"
Dean knew exactly the 'him' she meant and responded, "Not yet."
"I'm sorry," she started.
"Shut up," Dean cut her off.
"I've only ever been in the hospital once in my life," she started, and Dean leaned in closer to soak up all of her precious words.
"With me, it's not a question of when I was there, it's the times I definitely should've gone," he replied lightly. Her cheeks twitched slightly, attempting a smile.
"I had a staph infection and since I was little, like 5 or 6, it was really bad. I don't remember much of it but I do remember the look on my uncle's face. I never understood it until now; the combination of hopelessness and certainty that things would get better. I felt that way when he was born and I never want to feel like that again," she started sniffling and looked dead into Dean's green eyes. "So, I'm sorry, I'm sorry I named him without you. I don't want you to feel helpless or left out…"
"Stop it, stop," Dean said placating her with small pecks on her knuckles and one hand reached out to cup her chin. It didn't do any good, however, because he felt the wetness of tears sneaking into his palm.
"I just didn't want to die without knowing his name," she sobbed, "I didn't want him to die without having one."
"Well he's good, you're gonna be ok. I'll make sure of it, ok?" She calmed herself slightly. "How'd you land on James by the way? …Not my first choice," Dean finished, using his charmer's smile.
Kat grinned lopsidedly. "It was the weirdest thing. As I felt the knife, I started, like, replaying that poem I read to you a million years ago, in my head. I was just thinking, 'this really is the music of what happens,' and the author of that poem's name is Seamus and James is the anglicized version—"
"Woah, woah, woah. Too complicated. I was really hoping it was a cool reason, because of Jim Morrison or something, because that's totally the alias I gave them."
"We could…make his middle name Dean. Keep it in the family and then he'd be James…Dean…" Kat joked. "Nothing says cool like James Dean."
"His nickname could be lil bastard," Dean suggested.
"So…does that make you big bastard?" Kat said slyly.
Dean gave her a reproving glance, and smiled tightly, just glad to have her back. Her voice was frail and she was still ghostly white.
"Where is Sam anyway?"
"Looking for Cas, so we could use his grace to heal you,"
"What happened when you went to look for the creature? What was there? Because Crowley showed up with him at the church."
"Rowena showed up looking for Crowley too. She was pissed at Cas for the stoning move so she snapped her fingers and he vamoosed. Kind of like she sent him back to Heaven. Sam's been trying to track him down," Dean explained.
"No such luck? We can't stay here. Not only are we exposed but we're putting all these people at risk." Kat's face held so much determination Dean thought she'd try to get out of the bed.
"I know. I'm gonna get you and James out of here. And we're gonna take Rowena down once and for all."
"Crowley too. He wants James dead so that Rowena can't use him to open the portal and summon her freaky mythical monster army," Kat amended.
"Well, we're gonna take them both out."
"Yeah," she stopped midway and took a labored breath, "I'm not exactly in peak physical condition." Her face started to curve downward as worry crept back into her features. Her breathing came a little harder and one of the machines picked up its pace forebodingly. Dean eyed Kat cautiously. He saw her eyes droop and her mouth fall open demurely and the monitors went into a frenzy.
Before Dean had the chance to yell out for help the room was flooded with orderlies and nurses. They barked orders, disconnected the rebellious wires, and wheeled Kat away without a second glance.
Exhausted feet followed them into the hallway. "Hey, what's going on, where are you taking her?!" called Dean. He was detained by an orderly the size of Sam.
"Sir, we believe there might be a uterine hemorrhage, you can wait in her room and we will give you information as soon as we get it,"
Dean stalked back into the room. He paced vigorously, running his hands through his hair to give them something to do. He whipped out his phone and dialed Sam's number and got no answer. Several painful seconds later he got no answer again. Three or four tries later he gave up, flinging the phone on the hard, pleather chair he'd pulled up to the bed.
He exhaled forcefully and continued pacing with his hands at his waist and his head hanging, feeling the gravity of fading hope.
A small tap on the door preceded its opening and a small blonde nurse, wearing scrubs with dancing teddy bears on them entered. "Mr. Morrison, they just took your wife into surgery to fix the bleed. The doctor will come in afterwards and debrief you. But, I'm from pediatrics, and I thought you might like to spend some time with your son?" She posed the statement as a question, innocently waiting for a response.
It dawned on Dean that there were two people that needed him now.
"Yeah, actually, I would," Dean said bravely.
The young nurse disappeared for a minute a reappeared with a glass case on wheels. To Dean, it looked like something out of Jurassic Park.
He backed up into the uncomfortable chair and sat as she opened up the chamber and reached in for a very small squirming figure wrapped all in white. Dean paused for a moment to think about what way he should hold out his arms. The nurse smiled kindly and moved his left arm down and his right up and placed the little alien between them.
"He's been restless since they brought him to the NICU. If you need anything you can just press the button on the leg of the incubator and I'll come, ok?"
Dean just nodded and she left the room graciously.
He looked long and hard at the little face peering at him. It didn't look much like anyone, except for the full head of black hair which was obviously Kat's doing. He looked like his own person; an individual. Dean was actually scared of him. Terrified really, of this—he looked to the incubator at his ID card—5 lb and 2 oz, human being.
Just then the fidgeting alien opened his eyes. Dean felt paralyzed as eyes that matched his own green ones locked onto him, seeming to take in every pore and wrinkle on his face.
"What are you lookin' at little man?" Dean scolded gently.
A vibrating from Dean's pocket disrupted their first moment together and James grunted and kicked against the sensation tickling his feet.
"Alright dude, slow your roll," Dean said as he fished the phone out of his pocket. He checked the caller ID; Sam.
"Where are you. Did you find Cas?" Dean questioned, softly because of James.
"The summoning spell isn't working. I've been waiting for an hour and I drove around too, to see if he crash landed somewhere else, but nothing," Sam said his voice full of stress. "I managed to get Crowley in a devil's trap. He's still at the church. Should I go back and make him talk?"
"No. Kat's….Kat's not doing good man. They just took her in for surgery again and we need a fix now. We can worry about icing Crowley later. The important thing is her," Dean ordered.
"Ok, do we send out a mass prayer?" Sam asked, clambering for
"No, those douches don't care, one of those holy rollers have to be willing to go rogue."
"Barachiel? He helped once before."
"Yeah. Send him up a message," Dean ordered, practically licking his lips with intensity.
"And…any word on the baby?" Sam's voice tread softly over the question. He knew that the answer could be the worst possible one and that it could be the thing that pushed his brother over the edge. It left Sam wondering how much of an impact the child had already made on their lives.
Dean looked down at James who had settled into a light sleep curled into his elbow.
"Dude, he's like a little alien. They brought him in an 'incubator' and I feel like I'm on Isla Nublar with Jeff Goldblum making dinosaurs." himself to Dean allowed himself to heave a sigh of relief as he spoke.
Sam laughed, elated for the first time in the night. "So he's good then?"
"Unless I break him. He's…he's so small dude. I don't know what to do with him," confessed Dean.
"You just gotta be there for him. If there's anything you can do, it's take care of people. And don't go blaming yourself for Kat either. We're gonna fix this, I'm gonna call Barachiel," assured Sam.
"Thanks, Sammy," said Dean quickly and he hung up the phone.
Sam pulled up to the church and looked for a second at its innocence. He willed himself inside. There, amongst the overturn tables and spilled juice, there was Crowley, still unconscious. An unbridled fury filled Sam and he found himself clutching the demon knife and holding it over Crowley's chest. Every muscle tense, his brain was filled with violent imagery.
Of all the years he'd known Crowley, he'd done more harm to them than most. Now here he lay completely at his mercy, and Sam could end it all.
But something stopped him. He could feel the sweat pooling in his palm that was wrapped around the knife but he couldn't move. He thought of Kat and what awaited her if she survived this; how they'd never get a line on Rowena if Crowley were dead. His arms fell and he exhaled with them.
The rage had diffused and there was a barrenness left in its wake. This is what pulled him to the old dilapidated chapel.
Day was broke and the sun shone with its full strength through the broken stained glass panels, leaving scattered blue and red shadows on the floor.
"Barachiel? It's Sam, Sam Winchester. I don't want you to think that I'll only call when we need help but…Kat, she's not doing well and my brother, he can't do without her right now," he said with desperation slipping into his tone.
"I do not blame you, Sam Winchester, for calling. It is after all what angels exist for; to help. Those that have humility when asking will always receive an unfailing response."
The angel had appeared before Sam had finished his sentence. He had changed since the last time they saw each other. Absentmindedly it occurred to Sam that not all angels were Cas.
Each had their own personality, whether they accessed it or not, and Barachiel certainly did. He was wearing a pair of nicely pressed blue jeans, a green polo, and a brown corduroy sport jacket.
"Thank you," said Sam. "It was the demons, they found us—" Sam began.
"And the child?" Barachiel asked abruptly.
"I haven't seen him."
"Interesting," the angel mused, "if anything can be done, it shall." And he was gone.
Meanwhile, Dean had drifted off. The shuffling of shoes and the creak of a gurney wheel awoke him and he went to reach for his knife but stopped as he realized his movement was causing James to squirm in his sleep.
The nurses reattached Kat to her machines and Dean watched from across the room, moving was impossible because each slow motion he made to get closer left the baby squiggling like an unearthed worm.
He felt awkward and vulnerable in his position in the armchair. His legs open and his bottom half slid far enough down the chair that he could rest his head on the back.
Finally, the doctor from earlier came in carrying a clipboard. She placed it at the edge of the bed and looked back at Dean, with a smile that was both proud and pitiful.
"How is she?" he promptd.
"Well, she pulled through a second time. We're pumping her full of blood, and with the second surgery we were able to find the remaining bleeders. Now it's just a waiting game. I can't promise, but we're hopeful." She saw Dean's face fall. He was entirely too accustomed with having hope dashed to pieces and didn't trust her prognosis. "If there's anything I've come to learn, it's how different humans are. Each body works and reacts in their own way. And so far, she hasn't given up," she finished, trying to bring him some consolation during what should've been a happy time.
She took her leave and Dean sat now wide awake in the dimly lit room. The only source of light was a fluorescent bar at the head of Kat's bed. It framed her perfectly.
A soon as Dean heard the whoosh of wings he snapped to attention.
"Cas!?" he said in a hushed voice.
"No. Barachiel." Dean hid his disappointment that it wasn't Cas. It took Barachiel a few seconds to walk to the chair where Dean had set up his vigil.
In that time he did not look at Dean once, merely at James. Dean couldn't explain why it made him feel uncomfortable, but he sat up ready for anything that might come between him and his child.
Barachiels fingers deftly ran across James' forehead as he muttered something in Enochian.
"What did you do?" Dean asked as the angel began to walk away.
"I do not doubt your ability to protect him. I doubt his ability to stay safe," said Barachiel with unwavering certainty.
"So you're expecting trouble?"
"I am saying that it is out of our hands; additional warding can only help." He got to Kat's bedside and his wrinkled face fell. Whatever he could see made each of them deeper. The hands that had gingerly touched James' forehead moments before worked their way over the length of Kat's body, hovering an inch above it.
"She will need rest."
"But can you fix her?" Dean asked impatiently.
The angel did not answer, but simply moved back up to Kat's chest. Placing both hands on it, the mumbling started again but this time, the room was filled with a momentary flash of yellow light. The machines whirred wildly but settled into a normal rhythm seconds later. Dean couldn't wait any longer and as carefully as he could he placed James' back into the incubator. The boy's eyes opened momentarily as he sleepily fought off the surrounding noise.
As Dean got to Kat's side, Barachiel stepped back.
"She will wake soon, let the grace to do its work. Call your brother, you cannot stay here."
In the whirlwind of vanishing angels and a hopefully reappearing Kat, Dean stood pacing. He had hoped Kat would, at least, be conscious, so the doctors and nurses weren't so attentive. They had come into her room every thirty minutes to check vitals (which were miraculously improving) but Dean needed a clear path.
Seconds later Sam appeared through the door holding a car seat covered mostly with a blanket and to the innocent eye, had supplies sticking from it.
"Hey," he said upon entry.
"Hey, he's asleep so we gotta move fast. We don't want crocodile tears during your prison break," Dean instructed. Sam moved quickly as he could in emptying the various t shirts he'd balled up, and a bag of Doritos onto the floor.
Dean went to the incubator and opened it. James' hiccupped and his breath caught slightly at being moved. Dean gently shushed as he cradled him "Ground control to Major Tom," he said softly.
Sam laughed and watched as Dean carefully put him in the car seat and managed to strap him in.
"He's awesome, dude."
"I think so," Dean draped the blanket over the seat, "I know it's not ideal. I mean he's so freakin' small. But Barachiel worked some mojo on him so he can't be too fragile right?"
"Not with angel grace inside him, that's for sure," Sam affirmed.
"I'll meet you in the back near the ambulance docks in twenty minutes. After they check her one more time,"
Sam nodded and went to the door, he opened it and looked both ways down the hall, sticking only his shoulder over the threshold.
He looked back and smiled reassuringly. "Dean, you're looking at me like this is Moses and the reeds. You'll see him in a few."
"I know, I know. Get going Pharaoh." Dean waved him out of the room. And assumed a position in the chair.
The last nurse had only just clicked the door when he sprung into action again. A wave of guilt crashed over him as he carefully removed the IV's from Kat's arm and ripped the heart monitors from her clavicle. She was so small that she seemed to be swallowed by the bed. He rested her head on his shoulder and placed his arms under her knees and arms.
The trip down the hall had Dean feeling like each step was alerting someone to his presence. Once in the stairwell, his pace quickened, knowing that he was that much closer to his goal. He'd snuck in and out of plenty of places before; it was just that he was carrying a rapidly healing stab victim in his arms that was different. He jumped the last step and Kat was jostled in his arms.
Her head pressed tighter into his chest and it was like she was inhaling him, too tired to open her eyes and recognize him any other way . Dean looked down at her and her eyes stayed shut but she whispered frailly, "where are we going?"
"You're gonna be ok, I promised remember? I'm breaking you out," Dean responded through rushed breaths.
"Aren't you a little short for a Stormtrooper?" she said. The reemergence of her old self-pushed
Dean's feet
He laughed wildly, knowing that in the empty hall no one would hear him. He kissed her forehead fiercely as he kicked open the swinging doors to the sound of the Impala roaring.